


Rubik's Cube

by junkienicky



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Conflict, Drug Abuse, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family Issues, Flashbacks, Foster Care, Homophobic Language, Multi, Past Child Abuse, Poverty, Prison, Protectiveness, Sibling Bonding, Slurs, time jumps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-14 15:02:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20602763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkienicky/pseuds/junkienicky
Summary: Franky would stop at nothing to shield her younger sister from harm's way and danger, but as Tess grows and conflicts stir, the truth about Franky's past and childhood must be uncovered eventually.





	Rubik's Cube

**Author's Note:**

> This work will contain flashbacks from Franky's childhood. Additional chapter warnings will be noted and the work rating may be altered. Most chapters are based on varied situations, though some may link.

_Alan walked back to his flat in heavy steps. He felt his gut wrench and palms sweat anxiously the closer it got. It wasn’t actually his flat, it was his sister’s, Kirsten, who begrudgingly rented out the sofa for himself and Nikki because he was her baby brother and that’s what big sisters are for. After all, it wasn’t like they spoke to their father at all anymore, and their mother passed from lung cancer a little over a year ago. The only family they had was each other and as annoying as it was for Kirsten to not be able to drag home a handsome bloke or tempt a couple of her mates round for a few drinks, while work was tight, she offered him the space because she loved him. She was his last and only resort._

_Right now, though, Alan felt sick to his stomach and a large lump forming in his throat. He met Nikki in school whilst he was busy showing off to his friends in the lunch hall. The group of friends that sat slap bang in the middle of the social hierarchy but weren’t looked down upon or bullied either. She’d called him an idiot with a broad grin, and he’d smirked back behind reddened cheeks, surprised that he even had the modest chance of earning a smile from such a looker. They clicked and it was as simple as that. They went from small talk to sharing fags on stairwells, to truanting lessons and dating within a few weeks. The love he developed for her was strong. Though it seemed even all things strong can be weakened by time._

_For the last couple of months, during their on-off status, Alan had begun convincing himself that he was, undoubtedly, not the sort of man who could provide for someone like her. The decision was simple. It was **saying** it that would be the hard part. He kept his eyes on the pavement – praying she would see some sort of sense in his reasoning, because really, the only fucking thing they’d been arguing about since finishing school, was the same thing over and over and over again. They’d snap, hang each other out in the frosted cold to dry, not speak to each other for days at a time, only to come back to each other again. It was an addictive cycle that repeated itself and had since the beginning of their relationship. Eight years this had gone on for. An achievement, of sorts. Not many twenty-four years olds can go around with that fact worn on their sleeve and can proudly declare that they met the love of their life in a place of rowdy halls, abused tables and kicked-in lockers and despite all odds, lasted this long._

_But no matter how much they pulled through the struggle and pushed aside the consequences to deal with them later – facing them was something Alan realised he’d have to do sooner or later. The worst of their bickering always boiled down to one thing; money. The pressure was rising like a steaming pan of boiling water, and the air was getting thin from the number of times they’d grovelled and fought over this subject. _

_Kirsten worked three jobs. There was her favourite, the pub, pulling pints until the early hours where she could enjoy the company of the regulars. Cleaning at a law firm further into the city, which could be worse. Sure, people may walk right through her because the distracted parts of their occupied, ignorant brains all sat on some sort of self-righteous high horse, but at least the shifts were moderately peaceful. Then there was spending weekends as a cashier at the nearest mail shop, just a three-minute walk from the flat. Out of their little family, she was obviously the one who’d achieved the most, and Alan couldn’t be prouder. No, she wasn’t cruising on the Pacific with a good book in one hand and her favourite brand of Prosecco in the other. But she was content and getting by just fine._

_Alan’s struggle came from not knowing what he was good at. He dabbled about in jobs – his most recent at Christmas, washing dishes at a Florentino’s, but that was only temporary. He didn’t have any qualifications, but that didn’t seem to matter when friends of his didn’t either and yet they were still thriving in jobs they enjoyed. After eight months dry and feeling his esteem plummet further, it was getting harder and harder to ignore the huge fact that Nikki could probably do better._

_He pushed the door to the flat open and stepped inside to wordlessly make his way over to the small fridge in the tiny kitchen area. The flat had one bedroom, one bath without a shower and a small sitting area that doubled as a kitchen and living room – not that there was subsequent space to call it “living”. Alan slept on a camper bed and Nikki slept on the sofa. _

_Since Kirsten was working most weekdays, she hadn’t the time, nor really much interest in redecorating the place to give it a more modern look. The rooms weren’t completely deprived of colour, but they had a wood-and-earth palette and more rustic feel to them than most flats in the area would. A yellowy, old, oval-shaped rug covered a large portion of the exposed floor by the worn furniture, and in the corner of the room, a newer, smaller television was stacked on top of a chunkier, older model. It would be fair to say that the place looked and felt more like a freeze-frame from the 70s than the current year of 86._

_Alan selected a cool beer from the fridge before he approached Nikki with some precaution. She was curled up onto the sofa watching a daytime show on the box telly. “You’re back early,” she croaked with heavy eyelids. “Yeah,” Alan said, sitting next to her as he settled his eyes onto the ashtray. She’d been ill for the last couple of weeks and put off looking for work because of that, which Alan eventually, hesitantly, approved of. Of course, he wouldn’t think she was faking it because the puking and wild headaches were very visibly real, but he kept his lips sealed and a silent thought that, just maybe, she was being slightly overdramatic about the severity of the situation. It didn’t help that Nikki and Kirsten barely got on in the first place, for Nikki to carelessly declare that the importance of her physical well-being induced her into the entitlement to take it easy. Even if it meant resting on the sofa all day long doing nothing but smoke and watch the box._

_Still, it’s not like it would matter much anymore._

_He stood up in that occasionally fast, spasmodic way that Nikki disapproved of, and moved to stand in front of the ‘It’s a Knockout’ rerun with the beer bottle in one hand and the other stuffed into the pocket of his jeans. His jaw tightened with nerves whilst he figured out where to begin with this and how to deal with the repercussions later. Nikki scowled at him in perplex, as she shuffled under the blanket and thrust her fingers through the thick strands of her dark hair. She leaned forward to pick out the smoking fag in the rim of the glass ashtray._

_“Nikki, we, err…We need to talk.” Alan said. Nikki sighed, you could say in apprehension, and brought her restless mouth to woefully close around the cigarette. _

_“Yeah,” she agreed, sitting up straighter to squint at Alan’s figure. She let out a cough. “I got somethin’ I need to tell you, an all.”_

_Alan’s light brow furrowed. Maybe she was on the same track in mind and this wouldn’t be as difficult as he’d worked himself up and prepared for._

_She didn’t wait for him and took the lead, starting her bit first. “I think I’m pregnant,” Nikki said, the words practically empty and hollow. Alan’s lips moved to find words, but they wouldn’t come out and so, impatiently, Nikki frowned at him. She let out a low sigh that grumbled in the pit of her throat. “Are you gonna say anything, then?” _

_Alan thought about it for a moment before his face shifted by a wide grin. He stuttered, “You’re sure? How long?” A laugh caught in his throat. _

_Nikki shrugged. “A week maybe. Dunno. The test’s taking fucking ages,” she complained, as her face contorted with a grimace. Excitedly, Alan shuffled into the cramped bathroom whilst Nikki watched, slouched and confused on the couch._

_The test was set out like a high school chemistry kit, including a clear plastic tray, two slim test tubes, an eyedropper and a white plastic stir stick. Impatient, Alan leaned forward to carefully remove the stick from the tube which had dyed a gentle shade of blue. _

_“You are,” he said, grinning by the toilet door and holding the stick out for her to see. Nikki brought the cigarette down from her mouth and dabbed the bud out with a roll of her eyes. _

_“Shit,” she said in an annoyed voice like it was the last fucking thing she needed. As if put on autopilot, Alan’s thought process was completely rearranged, and he joyously placed the stick back before joining his partner on the sofa. There was an ounce of guilt also flickering within him, as his previous intention drastically faded away._

_“This is great!” He beamed and Nikki could only glower at his giddy impulsiveness. She inhaled sharply._

_“We don’t have any money, how the fuck we supposed to look after a kid?”_

_That was a good question. An excellent one, maybe. But Alan was too overcome with delight to think it over lucidly. “We’ll manage,” he stuttered through a wide smile and bright eyes. “I’ll find a job, we’ll save, get a place of our own,” he reasoned. He knew it was his pride mostly talking but he didn’t care. They’d pull through and just maybe, this baby would be the one miracle to solve all his woes. The one miracle that would fix them both if they each had something to commit to. Just a tiny person that could be the centre of their universe – one small family wrapped up in a little bubble._

_Nikki visibly battled with the thought and said nothing. Until - “What was it you wanted to tell me, anyway?”_

_“Oh, um,” Alan shook his head and gestured a hand to implicate its unimportance. The thought of separating now seemed like a foreign concept to him and the dramatic shift in his perspective from a mere matter of minutes had his stomach churning. Or perhaps that was just because he’d skipped breakfast. “Nothing, I was just thinking maybe we could head out tonight. Makes sense now, we could celebrate,” he chuckled._

_Alan wasn’t surprised by Nikki’s look of hesitance. There was a time when a day wouldn’t go by that they were out boozing with friends. Ever since school ended, they never really seemed to do anything anymore, except binge drink in this tiny, drab flat._

_“Oh, yeah, celebrating with lemonade and fizzy orange. Sounds great,” Nikki rolled her neck back and sighed. Oh. Alan didn’t think of that. In fact – _

_“You’re right. Looks like we’ll have to quit for a while.” He rose to his feet, collected the filled ashtray and walked into the kitchen to tip the bud ends into the bin. Nikki’s face contorted with sheer gloom._

_“These fucking nine months are gonna be fun,” she huffed, instantly detached from the idea of growing a child. Altering her habitual routine would require a consistent effort which she simply did not have the energy to muster. Alan, on the other hand – _

_“Nuh, it’ll be great,” He said. He took his place on the couch next to her. “I’ll stick by you, yeah? We just need to find work. Soon as we’ve saved up enough, we can get out of here.”_

_Nikki’s sigh prolonged. Saved enough. Get out of here. The two sentences she’d heard so frequently, the number of dollars added up for each time would have them packing and flying away to the other, better side of Australia already._

_“Anyway. I’ll make you a cuppa, yeah?” Alan remarked, and good lord, a nice, hot, steaming cup of tea is one thing Nikki could never protest. So long as he makes it right – which thankfully – most of the time he does. Come to think of it, Alan was in an awkward jam between not quite being utterly useless at things, but never really perfect either. She was sold on his attraction primarily. But that’s all that dating at school was about. Actually living with him was satisfactory at best._

_When she really thought about it, the whole situation was even less than ideal and an inkling of her just knew that no matter how much Alan sugar-coated, or how good he was at persistence, or how annoyingly smiley he would become, with his optimism spilling all over the place. None of it would ever completely satisfy her..._

_Casting a glance over to the window, a piece of Nikki just nagged at her to get out and sprint without a single look back. A baby? Her life would be over before it even began. Just a book filled with empty pages and nothing to show for, like the good-for-nothing her family always regarded her as._

_Nikki’s distraction was intervened by the whistle of a boiling kettle. Soon, two warm hands, with a warm heart not far behind, carried a mug over and placed it onto the coffee table right in front of her. _

_“What you said earlier, ‘bout going out. Are you?” Nikki mumbled, staring into an abyss. Alan debated with the idea until his head finally nodded._

_“So, you’re just going to leave me to tell your sister about the surprise extra resident,” Nikki said, staring Alan sharp in the eye. _

_Flustered, he blinked. Somehow, that had skipped his mind, too. “Nah, no, course not –”_

_“You know she doesn’t like me, don’t ya?” Nikki cut in, with a more clear, distinct tone of voice. “When she finds out, we’ll be out, Alan. What we supposed to do then?” Her voice raised; firm and argumentative with a steady stream of panic running through her. Truth be told, Nikki never liked Kirsten and the two could never see beyond the brash personalities they tended to wear. Every encounter was short, brittle and abrasive._

_“Hey, don’t stress yourself out,” Alan said, giving her knee a few squeezes. “She won’t throw us out, alright? We’ll tell her together.”_

_His honesty was unignorable, and for a second, Nikki truly believed him. _

_Then she got to thinking. Sure as shit, she was no fucking fortune teller, sat behind a glowing crystal ball with abnormal superpowers and entities surrounding her. Neither was Alan. And maybe she was wrong. Maybe that’s how they would always do things, like how couples are supposed to. Together. Maybe this was the moment where she could become something good, and everything would work out just like it should?_

_Nikki smiled – her first genuine one of the day – and kissed Alan. Maybe things wouldn’t be as bad as the world wanted her to believe._

* * *

The queues to the phone booths were as long as the week and Franky had already been juggling with the idea of even getting up off her arse and making it this far in the first place. Wariness rolled off her in strong, unstoppable waves, and she stuffed her white-knuckled fists into her teal pockets, irritably scratching at that damn, folded letter from the parole board. This had to be some sort of practical joke. Surely some schmuck with a sick sense of humour thought ‘Just this once, let’s fuck someone about for the hell of it’. And it was April. The threat of being slotted and basic privileges suspended had the women keeping their practical jokes and pranks to a minimum, but that doesn’t mean that the outside world had anything to lose.

Franky blew out her cheeks, clenched her jaw at her anxiety’s request and declined some freckle-cheeked woman’s offer to jump space in the queue. Despite having fallen from the throne, Franky could sometimes be surprised to find she was still respected by a few of the women in some ways. Why? She had no fucking clue, but she did notice a lot of them were yellow-toothed, greasy-haired junkies she used to deal with. Typical.

The line moved a step forward and Boomer marched around the corner, capturing a glimpse of Franky before she looked away. She kept her eyes forward like a hawk and quickened her pace. To Franky, it was obvious that Boomer was trying her very best to act like she hadn’t a care in the world. Bless her soul. She’d never been an expert at disguising her emotions, but then, it’s not as if Franky could claim to be a guru in that field, either.

Before turning the corner, Boomer lost her grip on the leash and looked at Franky with a half frown, half sadness and something like longing in her eyes. Then she was gone. It couldn’t be left like this. Franky would have to speak to her later to make amends, because apparently today, all she felt like was giving sappy talks and firm talking-tos. One half of her felt sentimental and the other felt prudence bubbling up at the conflict of what she was about to do.

Calling her dad. She finally said the words to herself in her head, as it scrambled to think of a starting point. Franky was a talker. Debating, arguing a case, you name it. If there’s one thing she’d learnt in the last five years in this slaughterhouse, it was all things to know about the law and how to tweak and work it. Her ‘talking’ strategies and rough edges didn’t exactly comply with what’s required for a heart-to-heart or sharing bullshit sappy feelings. That kind of ‘talk’ was just drivel.

Well, it wasn’t just drivel with Bridget, Franky found…And that scared her. Come to think of it, she was missing her like a fucking limb and that was _laughably scary._

What was she thinking about, again? Oh yes. Her dad.

But it was too late to formulate a starting sentence now, at the front of the queue, with her flaming guts practising acrobatics and the sudden, loud thud of her heart in her ears.

Pulling a sweaty hand free from her pocket. Franky grabbed the phone and pressed it to her ear. She swallowed and mouthed each number as she tapped those little, metal buttons with her other wobbly hand. The last time she had been this riddled with anxiety was at her fucking hearing and there isn’t a single chance on Earth that she would give her dad the opportunity of hearing her vulnerability. Not again.

It rung five times before Franky had even realised, and with her patience plummeting, she squeezed the phone in a tight grip and lowered it from her ear.

Then she heard a click –

“Hello?” A gruff, tired voice said. Barbwire was tangled around Franky’s throat.

“Dad?” Franky said, twisting her head aside to ensure she was free from any unwanted listeners. The world was full of nosy parkers and prison had even more of them.

“Franky?” His voice suddenly elevated with a tint of speculation. It would be the last person in the world he would have expected to be on the other end of the line. Maybe he misheard and it just sounded like what he remembered her voice to be like, though a tad softer.

Franky tensed up, with her tongue sitting at the bottom of her mouth.

“Yeah. It’s me.”

His breath crackled into the speaker and Franky imagined him talking with the phone locked between the side of his head and shoulder.

“Are you okay?” He asked. In fairness, it’s not as if his daughter would call him up once in a fucking eclipse for a friendly, catch-up chit chat. There had to be something wrong for her to call him out of nowhere.

“Um, yeah,” she said, toughening up her voice and working her way up to her point. It shouldn’t be as hard as this, and yet, like everything, it fucking was.

“Well, um,” Alan started, lost. “It’s been a while since I visited you, love, and it’s great to hear your voice again but I wasn’t expecting this. Has something, uh, happened inside? Do you…” He hesitated. “Need a favour?”

Franky let out a tiny scoff and begun to fiddle with the phone cord. “From you? Nup.”

A sudden wail from a small brat came from the other end of the line and Franky paused in thought. Clearly, he had no shame in talking about this in a public space.

Alan exclaimed and sighed like he had his hands full with something. Restlessness grew inside Franky.

“Give me a second, Franky, I’m just…I just need to put something down.”

Irritated, Franky sighed and kept a firm lid on the slingshot of insults forming within her. If she hadn’t been managing her anger for the past couple of months, she’d have already slammed the phone down without warning. Sorry, Franky, I’m just going to abandon you. I’m just busy. I’m just this, or just that, or always _just_ something. She could still hear the ambience of a kid screaming. How hard was it to fucking walk away from noise?

It finally faded.

“Sorry, Franky. Is there something you want to let me know?” Alan wildly guessed, worried he might spark offence.

“Yeah, I’ve, erm. I got parole, and…” Franky paused and lowered the phone a little. What was the point in this? There wasn’t one. It would go nowhere, and she felt a sudden anger and resentment snap inside of her. But not at him. At herself. She changed course.

“That’s brilliant! Oh, that’s bloody great, Franky,” he exclaimed. Franky pictured him smiling. It got too much.

“Yeah, so I called, to um, to remind you to stay away,” Franky rushed. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth to stop it from trembling. Why did she ever let herself remotely believe that this was something she had the strength to do? She felt shame at her foolishness and kept her breath steady from the huge gape stretching in her throat. The conversation fell flat for a good time while she waited for a response.

“Oh,” Alan said; ecstatic completely drained from his tone. Even from a single, one-syllable word, the sadness from his voice was unmissable and honest. That, or he was a stellar actor.

“Yep,” Franky pushed out. By that point, it was logical to throw in a reasonable “goodbye” and hang up the phone but for some unspoken reason, she could not be pulled from it. Even as her eyes begun burning.

Still surprised to not yet hear a deadline tone, licking his lips, Alan started to speak again.

“No, I…I understand that, Franky.” He couldn’t protest. That was her wish. He was obliged to respect that, no matter how much it hurt. And truth was, he knew deep down, nothing would ever fix the scars of abandonment he had inflicted upon her. ‘Sorry’ one million times over would never cut it. The anger he kept for himself would remain for eternity.

But he knew there was one thing she had to know, and this might be the only remaining opportunity.

“But there’s something you have to know, Franky. Something I need to tell you.”

She rolled her eyes. Bad news by the sound of it, which is not something she could be fucked with anymore. Besides that, there was a very real possibility that if this conversation was prolonged any further, she might actually tear up. Absolutely not a weakness she would allow anybody (except maybe Liz, Boomer and Bridget) the privilege of seeing or even hearing. The last two times Franky’s dad had seen her cry was when she was pounding on the pane of glass separating them in a fit of rage and when she was tucked up in a medical bed with a blistered hand. There wasn’t going to be a third to add to that list.

Franky shook her head. “Too late. I gotta go. Bye.”

She clicked the phone back in place and walked away, drenched with regret and a throbbing ache in her chest. Whatever it was, it was probably bullshit, anyway.

Or maybe it was genuinely important, she considered, with her eyes drawn to the floor.

But her decision was made. It was too late now.

And it wouldn’t be unreasonable to say seventeen years too late, in fact.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise for any grammatical errors. Any feedback is appreciated!


End file.
